


I Just Don't Cut It With The Cherubim

by jessalae



Category: Road to El Dorado (2000)
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, Dirty Talk, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-11
Updated: 2012-05-11
Packaged: 2017-11-05 04:47:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/402591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessalae/pseuds/jessalae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Yes. Plan. I have a plan."</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Just Don't Cut It With The Cherubim

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the "dirty talk" square on my card for round three of kink bingo; originally posted on my Dreamwidth August 27, 2010.

The cantina is bustling, sailors and dockworkers and good old-fashioned thieves crowding the rickety tables and rough-hewn bar. Miguel sits in a corner, nursing a pint and working out the beginnings of a new tune on his guitar. So many marks, so little time — but he can’t get started until Tulio arrives. Tulio is the one with the plans.

The creak of the door opening is muffled by the din of voices, but Miguel feels the draft of cool night air and looks up. His partner in crime (and in other things, occasionally) orders a beer, settling onto a tall stool by the bar. Miguel stops himself from waving to catch Tulio’s attention; this must be part of the plan.

After ten minutes, though, Tulio hasn’t come over, hasn’t glanced back at him, hasn’t even used one of their emergency hand signals. Miguel sinks back into his corner, sulking, and strums a few vengeful-sounding chords. He’s absorbed in practicing a particularly menacing trill when someone slides onto the bench beside him, and he looks up into wicked black eyes.

“Tulio!” he says, his excitement flooding back.

Tulio nods slowly. “Yes. Yes, that’s me.”

Miguel frowns quizzically at him. “Well?”

“Well what?” Tulio looks strangely distracted, staring at the side of Miguel’s neck instead of meeting his eyes.

“What’s the plan?”

“The plan.” Tulio’s gaze jumps from Miguel’s neck to his lips, over to his ear, down to his chest. “Yes. Plan. I have a plan.” 

He finally looks into Miguel’s eyes, and Miguel suddenly knows that tonight, they are partners, but not in crime.

“Well, tell me what it is,” he says, his heart leaping.

Tulio grabs his tankard in one hand and Miguel’s in the other, setting them on opposite corners of the table. “Here’s the cantina. Here’s our house. We can walk home in ten minutes, if we move quickly.”

“We’re not staying in the cantina, then?” Miguel asks.

“No. Oh, no. Not unless you really want to shock the locals.” Tulio is sitting very close to Miguel, his lips scant inches from Miguel’s ear. Miguel swallows hard.

“As soon as we get home,” Tulio continues, “when the door hasn’t even closed behind you, I’m going to kiss you. I’ll press you up against the wall, take your face in my hands, and kiss you until you can’t breathe, can barely stand.”

Miguel feels like standing is already going to be a challenge.

“And then when you’re panting, I’ll kiss your jaw, your neck, your earlobe,” Tulio murmurs, touching each spot he mentions with the barest brush of fingertips. “And when I bite right… _there_ , you’ll gasp, those little gasps that make me want to tear all your clothes off— yes, just like that one.”

“Speaking of tearing clothes off, I’ll take off your shirt, and you’ll try to take off mine but get frustrated when the collar catches on my hair,” (Miguel always seems to run into that problem, every time) “and I’ll laugh and finish pulling it over my head. And then I’ll kiss you again, press my chest against yours, feel how hot your skin is against mine.”

Tulio trails off, lost in thought, and the beer or the late hour or the fact that room suddenly feels fifty degrees hotter makes Miguel bold. “What about your hands?” he rasps.

“My hands?” Tulio grins — Miguel can’t see his face but he can feel it, pressed against the side of his neck. “My hands will be everywhere, on your arms, on your back, on your chest and your stomach, rubbing exactly where you want to be rubbed. Not below your waist, yet, though. That’s for later.”

“I’ll kiss my way down your chest, past your collarbone. I’ll make you gasp again, a few more times, and then I’ll come back up and kiss you some more, pushing you away from the wall and down onto your bed. Then I’ll work my way down again, and when I get to your pants I won’t stop this time. I’ll pull them down, inch by slow inch, and kiss every bit of skin I find along the way.”

Tulio is no longer punctuating his explanation with pointed touches, but he’s practically sitting in Miguel’s lap, one arm slung casually around his waist. “When your pants are down around your knees, I’ll lick up the length of your cock, get it nice and wet. I’ll run my tongue over every inch of it, listen to you pant and watch you squirm, then I’ll take you into my mouth and suck.”

Miguel’s hips are rocking forward involuntarily. He thinks about trying to stop them, but the effort might make him miss one or two of Tulio’s whispered words, and that’s not a risk he’s willing to take.

“I’ll get my pants off while you’re paying attention to my mouth on your cock. That way, when I pull away, you’ll only be disappointed for a moment, because I’ll almost be ready for you."

“I’ll lie back and suck on my fingers before I push them inside myself. You’ll be watching the whole time, watching me spread myself open for you. Then I’ll get back up and I’ll ease myself onto you, moving slowly up and down. I’ll fuck myself on you until you can’t stand it, you just have to move, so you’ll grab my hips, slam up into me, and keep pounding me again and again until we both explode.”

Tulio straightens up, pulls away, and continues in a regular tone of voice: “And then we clean up, climb into bed, and go to sleep.”

Miguel swallows, trying to draw some moisture into his mouth. His whole body is shivering, nerves wound tight as his guitar strings.

“I like that plan,” he manages hoarsely.

Tulio smirks and stands, strolling casually out of the cantina. Miguel takes a moment to grab his guitar and assure himself that his legs will support him, then follows at a near-run.

He catches up with Tulio a block away, they make it home in less than ten minutes, and, for once, the plan goes off without a hitch.


End file.
